


The Greatest and The Fool

by 91bil



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Achilles' perspective, Charon is mentioned, Hades spoilers if you havent done the quest, M/M, Thanatos/Zagreus mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29281893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/91bil/pseuds/91bil
Summary: Achilles was destined to be the greatest of all the Greeks. He doubts even now if that is true, knowing there was always someone greater. Someone he lost. Someone he loved.[ A fic showing snapshots of Achilles' reunion with Patroclus, starting from Achilles' training of Zagreus. ]
Relationships: Achilles & Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	The Greatest and The Fool

“I was destined to be the greatest of all Greeks,” I tell Zagreus one day, staring up at the dark skies of the realm. He has never been beyond the house. Has never seen the outside world. He asked of it often, and I would respond each time, telling him a story about something new. “But that was only true for a short while, and even then, there was no glory in that greatness.” 

He tilted his head, sword swinging uselessly at the ground. I saw the same boredom in his eyes that I had so long ago. The same thirst for more. It frightened me sometimes, but I would see his smile, and see the kindness he treats everyone with, and I would be reminded of he who I lost, and my fear would wash away. “What happened?” He asked simply. I couldn’t dismiss it, but I could bring myself to say the truth. So I put down my spear instead and urged him to set his weapon down, too. 

He complied. There was no doubt he wanted to hear my story, but I knew it was also boredom with our training, and excitement at something new that truly drove his actions. I cracked a smile at it. He glowed at its presence. 

“I haven’t told you this before, lad, but when I was among the living, there was a great war. Many fought, and many died, and it went on for many years.” It was an understatement. It took ten years, countless lives, and many, many soldiers. I can’t remember them now, but it was never I who knew their names. It was always him. 

I continue. 

“We, the Greeks, fought the Trojans. And… it came to be that we were losing, a fault of my own when I refused to fight.” He tilted his head and I saw the confusion in his eyes. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but I continued, and he closed it just a moment after. “But then, the greatest of us all decided to fight. He went out and killed one of the Trojan’s best warriors. He could not turn the tide, but he inspired others, and he had done what no other man could do. He, and he alone, was the greatest of all the Greeks, Zagreus. I could never compare.” 

I spoke fondly of him. The greatest. He had been brave where I had been afraid and strong where I had been weak. He was greater than I ever was and for that I am still paying the price. I would be paying it for a long time, alone, without him by my side. 

I watch as Zagreus frowned, expression just bursting with disagreement. _But you’re the greatest!_ I was sure he’d say, leaning closer to me. I pat his head gently and looked back to the sky, allowing my mind to drift back to that day, if only for a moment. “But he died in that battle. He did not return from that fight. It was then that I claimed the title of the greatest, but it was empty, for who could be great when they lose part of their soul?” I stand, and I turn to him, and he stares at the ground. “Zagreus, lad. What have I told you?” 

“Fear is for the weak.” He mumbles halfheartedly. I nod in affirmation and offer him a hand. Fear is for the weak. It was a reminder to myself more than it was advice to his young mind, but we took to it like moths to a flame, and it became a token of our mentorship. 

“Fear is for the weak.” I repeat and pat his head again. “You will be faced with hard truths and situations. Remember the impact you can have, lad. Do not be afraid. Become greater than I ever was.” 

Just beyond the courtyard I spot a head of silver hair, and I smile, dismissing Zagreus for the day. “Someone’s waiting for you,” I tell him and send him off to play with Thanatos. He should not be concerned with the hardships of war yet. He is a prince, but so was I, and I would not wish that pressure upon any child. I pick up our weapons and place them back in their spots, hand lingering on the spear. I had held it many times before, and I would hold it many times more, but it felt heavy in my hand and heavy in my heart. 

Zagreus and I didn’t talk about the war after that. He didn’t ask, and I didn’t tell, and we trained in silence, or in conversation regarding the house only. Sometimes he’d speak of his father and I would think back to the exile that came to live in our house, and I would falter, and Zagreus would celebrate the hit he landed. 

Our days were spent like that for years. He grew older, and I did as well, and we would continue to train. He surpassed me in many ways; his skills were befitting that of a god, and my divine blood wasn’t enough to keep up. Still, he was a child in comparison to me, and I saw many of my own traits in his. He was quick, yes, but impulsive, and ran his mouth. It was easy to distract him, but hard to steer him from his course. He was stubborn. More than I was in my own youth. 

“Achilles, sir,” I hadn’t heard nervousness like that from him in a long time. He shifted from one foot to the other, glancing nervously at the gate, at what lay beyond. “May I tell you something? I need you to promise me you won’t tell my father about it. Swear it.” 

We had made promises to each other, but never oaths. I stand up straighter and say,“Of course, lad. You can tell me anything.” 

I mean it. He works up his nerve and looks me in the eye. “I’m going to leave this place. Permanently.” 

“Oh.” I say in return. He’s searching for approval, I realise, and I force a smile, nodding my head. “It will be hard.” I say. He disregards it. 

“I have to do this, Achilles.” 

He sounds so much like _he_ did back then. I feel sick, but I force it down, and force myself to stay in the moment. It is different here. He cannot die. Not truly. We learned that together long ago. “I know you do, lad.” And I do, for he has the same look in his eye, and the same antsy nature. “I will assist however I can. I will ensure your father does not find out, too.” 

I see the relief flood onto his face and wonder if I have kept the grief off mine. “Thank you, sir.” 

He fights with a renewed sense of excitement after that, and I fight with hesitancy, unable to focus, and unable to shake the resemblance. The scene was too familiar. Too close. _I have to do this, Achilles. Can’t you see? They’re dying out there._

I could not stop him then. I cannot stop Zagreus now, but I can support him, and do my best to ensure he makes it out of here alive. I cut our session short, for the sick feeling persists, and I know I will not feel better for some time. Zagreus is gone before I finish putting our weapons away. I would not want him to see my tears anyway. 

“Fear is for the weak.” I mutter to myself. It is meaningless in times like this. I am afraid, and I am weak, and this has always been true. I wonder if I should tell his father despite my words, but I don’t, for it wouldn’t stop him anyway. He has made up his mind. I saw it in the way he fought. 

Zagreus reminds me of him in so many ways. Reminds me of the man I lost. They are both stubborn, brave, _strong._

I do not see Zagreus for weeks after that. He is too busy running around, making preparations, getting things ready, and I am too busy avoiding him, running from the memories it would all bring. I see him talk to Nyx, and to Thanatos, and I know that he is getting close to leaving, for I see how his pace increases, and his expression darkens with each passing day. And then, at last, he is gone, and only footprints in the courtyard remain. 

* * *

The fates, of course, are cruel, and his journey is short. He returns not long afterwards, covered in red, angry and determined and excited. He sets off not long after that, and then he returns once more, and the cycle continues. I give him my codex. It is useless to someone who will not use it, and there is nobody more worthy than he. It contains everything I know. He smiles and thanks me for it, but it is the least I could do. He is gone again after that. I come to expect his arrivals and departures like clockwork. Any splash in the river draws my eyes over in hope, and fear, that it may be him again. 

He is gone for a long while one day. Longer than any time before, I was starting to imagine I would never see him again. Beginning to think he had truly escaped. But the splash still came, and he still emerged, somber, confused. He approached me with the codex in his hands, staring down at it with furrowed brows. 

“Achilles, sir…” He started, and I listened as he spoke of a man I had written about in the codex. I had known him when I was alive, and I had remembered him in death, writing about him when I had assumed that book would be for my own eyes only. Grief washes over me in a flood I cannot control and I suddenly feel as though the halls are too small and too close, collapsing in on me as we spoke. I excuse myself, claiming to be on guard, finding any excuse I can to get him to leave. He does not buy it, but he leaves regardless, slinking back to his room, eyes still on the codex. I know the man he has met. I know his name is written in the book, a memorial for someone who has no doubt forgotten me. 

Patroclus. Even still his name is beautiful. Patroclus, whom I had loved and lost, and who was always shining brighter than I. He was more divine than the gods, but he was still a mortal, and he still bled. I still remember how heavy his body was. 

My hand goes to a lock of my hair, shorter than the rest, cut on the day I had lost him. It was the only time I ever cut my hair. It still wasn’t enough to honour him. I could mix our ashes together, build him a lavish memorial, sacrifice the finest animals in the land and still it would not be enough. He who was so golden, and I who was so taken with him. I thought of his smile, of the way he’d cup my face, looking at me like I could do no wrong. I thought of his kindness, the warmth of his presence, the way I could never take my eyes off of him in a room. I thought of our time spent together, our youth, our love. We were one soul in two bodies, and we were torn apart, separated by my foolishness. 

“Fear is for the weak.” I grit through my teeth, drawing in a deep breath. It is for the weak. I could not cry out here in the hall. All the tears I had shed still wasn’t enough, though, for I felt them upon my face, and I saw the way Orpheus’ look softened from across the hall. I did not like pity. 

His look wasn’t pity. It was understanding. He, too, had lost someone, torn from his own foolish choices. I looked away and shut my eyes, hoping to escape it, even for a moment. I heard distant chatter in the courtyard, and then there was silence, and I assumed Zagreus had left once more. I hoped selfishly that he would reach Elysium again. I hoped that he would not mention me to Patroclus. I hoped that he had drank from the Lethe, had forgotten about me, about us. I hoped that he was in a better place. I hoped so many things, and as I waited for Zagreus’ return I found I had hoped that my prayers continued to go unanswered, and wondered if he would remember me as I remember him. He wouldn’t want to forget me, I thought, gripping onto my spear a bit tighter. We were inseparable in life. 

But we were separable in death, and it was I who caused it. 

Zagreus did not return for a long while, the smell of Patroclus lingering around him. I could identify it anywhere. Even here, it was uniquely his, and more refreshing than any sip of ambrosia. For reasons all his own, he did not speak of his encounter, and I did not ask. Our rhythm became familiar in that way. I only told him what he asked for, and he asked for little. He, at the very least, did not ask about Patroclus, and for that I was grateful. The knowledge that he was still out there was enough for me. Me, who was far too weak, and far too afraid to ask for more. 

* * *

Orpheus approached me one day, lyre in hand, a bounce to his step he had not had before. 

“My contract has been broken,” He smiled. “I am going to see Eurydice.” 

I couldn’t believe it. I smiled, happy for him, at a loss for words. He was permitted to visit Asphodel whenever he’d like, according to him. He was permitted to see Eurydice freely. It was all thanks to Zagreus, he said, picking at a few of the chords. It was done under the permission of Hades himself, albeit unaware of the true extent. There was nothing the master could do about it now, in any case, and he was not going to stop Orpheus from making the trek. 

I asked if he was afraid. 

He smiled at me, and said, “Fear is for the weak, isn’t it?” 

I couldn’t say anything back. So I nodded, and wished him well, and he left, singing the start of a song I had never heard before. I wondered if he fully understood the impact of the conversation we had. If Zagreus could alter the contracts… could allow Orpheus to visit his wife, then, perhaps…

I shake the thought out of my mind. I couldn’t think of that now. It was too risky. Who was I to risk something of that nature? I was not like Orpheus. I was not here out of my talent; I relied on my glory alone. The master had a soft spot for Orpheus and his music. He had no such fondness for me. I could lose my position in the house by disobeying. Lose what I had worked for. Lose the security I had given Patroclus. 

No, there was too much to lose, and I could never afford the price of failure. There was no guarantee the master would allow this to stay, too. There were too many what-ifs, too many risks, too many doubts. Yet, I could not lose the thrum in my chest or the hope in my heart. It was a chance. A possibility, however small, however unlikely, that I could see Patroclus. Even once. I could see his face again. 

My heart ached. I longed to see him again, to hold his hand, his body, to pull him close and never let go, doing what I should have done way back then, back when we were still flesh and blood, back when we were still together. I thought of the feeling of my lips on his and I dropped my spear, letting it clatter to the floor, echoing in the empty hall. The master noticed. He said nothing. 

* * *

“He said… He said to risk it all, sir.”

“He… what? He said that? To risk it all?” 

I couldn’t believe what Zagreus was telling me. Patroclus, who I had sworn would never want to see me again, was telling me to risk it all. Zagreus nodded, confirming my fears, and left me to my thoughts, off to speak with his father. I excused myself from my post. The master would not mind. I was not supposed to be on duty now anyhow. Risk it all, he said. If only it were that simple. 

I paced the floor of my room and wondered what I should truly do. It was no easy task. No easy request. It would be insubordination at best, willful rebellion at worst. What if Hades banished Patroclus to Tartarus? To Asphodel? What if we were separated, permanently, no hope of ever reuniting? What if I was relieved of my post, unable to look after Zagreus, unable to help? What if I ended up alone?

What if I ended up alone.

I felt a surge of anger as I thought of it more. Patroclus should know that I cannot simply risk it all. He should know what I have to lose, what _we_ had to lose. But I could not be mad at him for long, and my anger washed away to bitter regret, corrosive and volatile in nature. I had already lost it all before. There was nothing more to lose, nothing else the master could possibly take from me now, except for my own foolish pride. But I have never had that, have I? My pride was burned to ash the very day Patroclus left the earth. _Risk it all._

I have nothing to risk. 

I go back and forth for days. I avoid Zagreus in the halls, avoid Dusa as she cleans, avoid anyone who may say a word to Zagreus. I have nothing to risk, so how can I risk it all? How can I not? I know the importance of this decision. I know the effect it will have on the rest of my afterlife. Should I risk it all, or play it safe, sticking to the known. I was afraid. Paralysed by choice. 

I was laying in bed when it came to me. The vision of Patroclus, leaning over me, determination in his eyes. 

“Will you waste this opportunity, philtatos?”

 _Most beloved._ I reach for him, but I do not grasp him, his presence gone before I can touch. I do not sleep that night. I only cry, mourning, fearing. 

I make up my mind the very next day. “Fear is for the weak,” I tell Zagreus, giving him my blessing. I do not tell him how afraid I am. I am sure he sees it on my face. 

He changes my contract. My nerves twist and turn so violently within me I am afraid I will be torn apart, but I nod my head, and I set off for Charon. For Elysium. _For Patroclus._

I cannot sit still. Charon makes me pay a bit extra. I do not mind. My most beloved is worth it. He is worth all the obol in the land, and all of that on earth, and all of that on Olympus, too. He is worth more than anything to me. For him I risk it all. 

I almost stay on the boat when I am dropped off at his chamber. I can see him in the distance, vaguely, sitting down in a patch of grass. 

“I cannot do this.” I tell Charon. 

He pushes me off regardless. 

* * *

I stare at him for a while longer, taking in every detail as if it were the first time I ever saw him. He looked sadder now. Guilt welled up inside of me. 

“Patroclus!” My voice falters, and he does not hear. “Patroclus!” 

His head jerks up, and finally I meet his eye. Something flashes within it, confusion, anger, relief, _love._ I cannot stay away from him any longer, and I run, abandoning my spear, abandoning my duties. He runs to me, too, and we meet, a mess of limbs and clothes and words. We do not speak. We do not move. We only hold each other, drinking the other in, parched from going so long without a drink. I trace my thumb across his cheek and he runs his hand through my hair as if he had never felt it before, and never felt its length in his touch. He was so beautiful. He was so beautiful, and so magnificent, and I was so in love, and so stupid for ever leaving him behind. 

“Philitatos,” I whisper, and his grip on my arm tightens, and I pull him closer. “My love, I missed you,”

“You risked it all,” He replied and pressed his forehead against mine. “Fear is for the weak.”

We fell to the floor, too tired to stand, too stubborn to let go. I had gotten a taste of his warmth and I would not give it up for anything. Not again. Never again. 

I laugh, cupping his face with both my hands. His hands drop to hold my wrists, making me unable to remove them even if I wanted to. “You make me strong.” I whisper.

He closes the distance between us first. It is familiar and it tastes like him, and I would not dare to pull away, even if it’d kill me. There are no words that need to be said between us. There is no sentiment stronger than the touch we shared, the way he gripped my arms tighter, the way we fit so perfectly together that there can be no doubt we are of the same soul, the same heart. We care not for the spirits presiding in Elysium, or the cheers from the champion’s fight only a few chambers away. There is nobody else in the world except for us. There is nothing else in the world except our love. 

He calls my name but I do not listen, drinking him all in again and again and again. He pulls away from my barrage and laughs a beautiful laugh. It is enough to stop me dead in my tracks, and it is enough to make me cry. His face softens at my tears and he calls my name again, wiping them away with his thumbs. 

“I’ve missed you, Achilles.”

“That’s my line, Patroclus.”

I take his hand and kiss it, and he laughs again, and I fall more and more in love with the sound. I kiss him again to hear the sound and he knows it. He laughs all the same. 

Zagreus finds us after a while, still in each other’s arms, tears staining our faces. Patroclus breaks eye contact only long enough to give him a gift for the road, and I do not let my eyes drift for even a moment. I know I will have to leave soon. 

“I will be back,” I promise him, running my hands across everything I can reach. “I’ll visit as often as I can. As often as my duties will allow. I will send Zagreus with messages for you. I promise. I swear.”

Patroclus laughs again, and his smile stretches across his face. “I know,” He says, simply. “I would hunt you down myself if you didn’t.” 

It’s my turn to laugh, so taken with him, so taken with his humour. I know he is serious about it, too, which is why I nod, and kiss him once more. “Alright.” I run my hand through his hair. “Alright.”

We part. He waves me goodbye. My arms feel empty without him. 

My trip back to the house is quiet, but calm. Charon is not the best at conversation, and my emotions ran too high to speak. So we rode in silence, and I thought of all the things I’d tell Patroclus when we met again. 

And meet again we would, for when I finally returned to the house, the master simply huffed, going back to his paperwork. We exchanged not a word about my trip, or the details of my contract, or the insubordination I had caused. It was business as usual. I had lost nothing, and gained everything. 

* * *

I visited Patroclus often after that. The moments when we locked eyes across the room were my favourite, for I could see the smile stretch across his face, his eyes squinting from the joy. I greeted him with a kiss, and then another, and another, until he pulled back, laughing, telling me we had a visitor. Zagreus would pass through, and Patroclus would joke with him, a brightness in his voice that I had never heard when he was walking above. It was moments like these that I could only watch them talk, proud, loving. I did not know the son I bore when I was flesh and blood, but if I had, I would wish he were like Zagreus. 

The two of them turned to me, apparently locked in a new debate. “What do you think, Achilles? What do you recommend the stranger take?” 

I chuckled. “The champion will be tough to beat, lad. You should take whatever help you can get on that.” 

Zagreus rubbed his chin and made his choice, exiting the chamber with a wave. Patroclus and I watched him go, and then we turned to each other, falling into our own laughter. He was so eager, and so ambitious, too. 

“He gets it from you,” Patroclus laughed, hand finding my own. “That determination.” 

I stared at the door he had left from and nodded, unable to refute it. I had taught him, after all, and my influence lingered. “I got my stubbornness from you, and it has rubbed off on him too.” 

He hums in response, though I know he is just making fun of me. There’s mirth in the way he moves. I wonder if Orpheus would be willing to compose a song in his name. 

“Tell me more of the house. What of Thanatos and Zagreus? You never quite finished the story.” He leaned closer, and I leaned too, attracted like a moth to a flame. I try to think back to where I was before we were interrupted, and I find my place in the story quickly. 

“Right,” I nod, tilting my head upwards. “It was fated to be, I believe. They are drawn to each other, naturally, as though it was always meant to be.” 

“Fated…” Patroclus echoes, thumb brushing against my hand. I smile and catch him gazing at me, and he tries to look away. I am faster than he is, though, and I bring his hand upwards, placing a chaste kiss on it. I see the way his face burns. I revel in it. 

“Perhaps you can ask him about it yourself, next time.” 

“Perhaps.” He nods. I begin to wonder if he will truly do so, but as he leans even closer to me, all my thoughts melt away, and I am left only with the taste of him. 

My beloved Patroclus. The greatest of all the Myrmidons, of all the Greeks, of all the men who walked upon the earth. The fallen soldier who helped to turn the tides of the war; my lover; my soul. 

We were separated in life and we were separated in death, but just as our ashes mingled together, our souls found each other in the darkness, and we would never let go again. 

“I love you.” I whisper. “I love you.” 

He does not respond, but he does not have to, for his presence is enough. It’s always enough. 

In the idyllic Elysium we sat, shining brighter than the gods, hearts full of overflowing love. He, the greatest, and I his fool.

**Author's Note:**

> Achilles was only considered the greatest of the Greeks once Patroclus passed, for as long as Patroclus walked the earth, there would be no greater than he. Even in death, Achilles knows the truth. 
> 
> Patroclus has always been the greatest, and Achilles his fool.


End file.
